


A Christmas Miracle

by oli_oop



Series: Hawkward Holidays [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:18:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9069253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oli_oop/pseuds/oli_oop
Summary: When Clint spies a present with his name on it under the tree, he does everything he can to get the scoop on what it might be.





	1. December 22

**December 22**

Clint eyed the box. His name was on it, in neat handwriting, and it was the only box of his that had no “From” line. There were a few boxes that said they were his from each of his team members, but this one was mysterious. It was also the only one in this handwriting.

He looked around before picking it up. He shook it carefully. There was an equal distribution of weight, no rattling, no jangling, and no moving parts. He weighed the box against a box with Bruce’s name on it at about the same size. Definitely heavier than Bruce’s. The box was oblong, taller than it was wide, and about nine inches long. He considered lifting a flap, but the finicky mirrored green paper would show the tampering. He didn’t want to break Captain America’s star-spangled heart by peeking two days before Christmas. 

“Clinton Francis!” He almost dropped the package. Tony stood in the doorway with a mug of coffee. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“I’m inspecting the quality wrapping that Steve did,” He said, grinning.

“Uh-huh. Why did you assume it was Steve?” Clint shrugged at him.

“I dunno, he’s the only one that I could think of that would wrap a present in green paper with a red bow. I figured he got me a ball-and-cup game or something like he used to play with as a kid.” Tony was not impressed with his ‘Old Man Steve’ joke, which did not bode well for Clint’s case. 

“If I catch you messing with the presents again I will have JARVIS revoke your range privileges.” Clint was appalled.

“How could you do that? That’s just rude,” Tony chuckled.

“So’s peeking on Christmas Eve-Eve… Eve” Clint nodded.

“Fair point. Alright, I won’t peek.” Clint hoped that the reflection of his back wasn’t visible in the windows behind him because fingers on both of his hands were crossed.

“Come on, Robin Hood, let’s go set up the movie.” Clint grinned and followed Tony, throwing one last glance at the package before he rounded the bend.

***

That evening, Clint shinnied into the vent above the communal family room with a hook connected to a length of fishing line. The line was strong enough for the package and he was confident in his present fishing abilities, but the thing he worried about was someone walking into a floating present. He waited nearly an hour after they finished watching “National Lampoon’s” for the first time with Steve and Bucky, and people had gone home or back to their labs. The person he didn’t necessarily have tabs on was Natasha. Clint weighed his options. Go fish, and subject himself to whatever torture Natasha could dish out, or not go fish and wait the three days in agony. 

He popped the vent cover off quietly. The vent was at a right angle to the present, and he had to swing it gently back and forth to hook on the ribbon of the package. It took his four tries, but it finally hooked. It was all he could do to not cheer. He slowly, carefully, quietly began reeling it in to avoid dropping it. It slid across the carpet at a glacial pace. He felt his heartbeat in his ears. Just as the present began to line up, he saw movement in the hallway. He froze. It was Bruce, carrying an empty teacup. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face.

Bruce technically didn’t have to go through the family room to get to the kitchenette. He went around the couches. If he so much as glanced, he would see the present in the middle of the floor, and possibly the fishing line. Clint considered aborting the mission entirely. Would Bruce tell Tony? Probably. Bruce turned on the kettle and leant against the counter. Clint said a quick prayer to the Ghosts of Christmas past that he didn’t look toward the tree. 

The Ghosts of Christmas past were assholes. Bruce looked to the tree and smiled. The team had spent a few hours decorating it and drinking hot cocoa and laughing at each other last weekend. Clint had tried to shoot the star off of the top of the star from the tree with the sucker-cup arrows he had been given from Tony, but Thor knocked it out of the air and that’s where the fight began. Clint then tried to shoot Thor, but Steve threw his plastic plate and hit him in the back of the head. Then Natasha threw a sugar cookie at Steve, who proceeded to get another plate to hit Natasha with. Tony was cackling when a sucker cup arrow stuck itself to his forehead. 

“Clint, this is wet, what the he-” Tony groaned, cutting himself off when he saw Clint licking the next arrow to stick to Steve’s head. “Heathens! The lot of you!”

Clint felt just as fuzzy as he assumed Bruce did, but the cold sweats really ruined the nice feelings. When Bruce leant forward to pull the tea drawer out, he saw something that gave him hope: Bruce’s glasses. They were hanging on his shirt by one of the arms. Bruce was by no means impaired, but there was a chance that he wouldn’t see the fishing line hanging from the ceiling unless he was actively searching for it. Clint held his breath as Bruce dunked the tea bag repeatedly. Clint silently willed him on his way and after what felt like days, Bruce pitched his tea bag wrapper and went back from whence he came.

Clint began the reeling again. Without any prior warning, Natasha stepped into his field of vision. His eyes widened and he stopped pulling on the box. It was floating about a foot off the ground behind the couch. He was caught. He was cooked. He gently put his forehead on the floor of the duct. She was carrying scissors. With a heavy sigh, he poked his head out of the vent as the snatched the present and cut his grappling hook off of it. She didn’t even look up at him, and he knew that she was going to fry him later. He reeled the sad end of the fishing line back in dejectedly, considering going on the lam to avoid Natasha’s wrath. 

After he replaced the vent, he went back to his floor and tried to make like he totally didn’t just try Christmas Present Espionage, but Natasha was already there. 

“Clint,” She said, unravelling his grappling hook from her pocket. “You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?” He grinned at her and tried to pretend he wasn’t covered in air duct dust. 

“No, Nat, I don’t have any idea,” He said sweetly, letting a hint of his old drawl creep in around the edges of his voice. “What would a guy like me have to do with a thing like that?” The tiny, fishing hook sized appendages of the hook glinted at him. She nodded.

“Fair enough,” Before he could react, she stuck him in the shoulder with it. He yelped and backed away, reaching to pull it out. “You oughta get acquainted with it.” She said drily, strolling out of his quarters.

Grumbling, he went to the bathroom and wiggled it out of his shoulder. The offending wound was hardly big enough for the tiny dot bandages that come as a joke in variety packs, but there wasn’t a band-aid for his ego. How had she known what he was doing? How did she beat him back to his bedroom? With a short chuckle, he decided it was just part of her charm. The game was on, and now he had to think of a new plan.


	2. December 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint goes on a hospital visit with the rest of the team for the holidays and meets his littlest fan.

December 23

The next morning, Clint woke and went down to breakfast, incident with the present nearly forgotten.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Steve said sarcastically at Clint’s mussed hair and bleary eyes. Clint glared and signed COFFEE at him. Steve grinned and pointed in the general direction of the coffee pot, already full and steaming lustily. Clint made a pleased noise, low in his throat, and made grabby hands at it. Steve wrinkled his nose at him, but made no comment. After the first few mornings of offering to leave Clint alone with the pot, he learned that Clint wouldn’t even have his ears in until well after the second pot was brewed. 

Clint was still scheming. He knew that this afternoon, he would begin visiting the local children’s hospitals for Christmas. The team played Santa with the kids, bringing each kid a toy and chatting with them for a while. He and Steve were a team, Tony and Bruce were a team, and Natasha and Thor were a team. Bucky was not on a hospital rotation, and he requested that he never be put on one for obvious reasons. A small part of him knew that they had to pair him with Captain America in order for the kids to even care, but he didn’t necessarily mind. He couldn’t deal with people asking him for his autograph in the streets like Steve or Tony or even Thor could. Steve would blush and take it as the deepest compliment and genuinely cared about every person who asked. Tony let it look like it fed his ego, but really he was deeply touched (if not vaguely concerned) that he was somebody’s hero. Thor would probably go home with somebody if they asked him, out of genuine curiosity for the Midgardian condition.

“Neck deep in thought?” Tony asked, walking into the kitchen.

“He’s been in outer space for about 10 minutes now,” Steve said, chuckling. 

“Whatchu thinkin’ ‘bout?” Tony asked, batting his lashes as he came into Clint’s line of sight. 

“Arrows.” Clint said, grinning and pouring himself more coffee. 

“Uh-huh. Not buying it. There’s more drool when you think about arrows,” Tony teased. Clint automatically wiped at his mouth before he realised Tony was kidding. “Every single time, Katniss,” Tony said between chuckles. 

“Can it, Tin Man,” Clint shot back, downing the scalding hot coffee. “Don’t make me show you my EMP arrow,” 

“Why would you even need that?” Clint shrugged.

“We’ll know why I need it when I need it. I’m going to get ready for the hospital visits. Any specifics?”

“If you bring a single sharp and pointy object, I’m kicking you off the team,” Tony said, recalling the first visit they went on when they were nearly banned as a team from one of their stops. Between Natasha and Clint, there had been fifteen weapons, and they were in plainclothes. Clint pointed at Steve and made to complain that only Steve had that privilege when Steve crossed his arms in an exact replica of Tony’s stance.

“And you’ll be cleaning the couches out in the common room.” Clint pulled a face and, knowing that he was licked, went to shower up.

As he was in the shower, he figured it would take him fifteen minutes to get back to the Tower from his last rounds. He absolutely would not short the kids on time, but he was with Captain America. He wasn’t going to get asked for autographs. But was was to be his excuse why he wasn’t going to stand around and watch people fawn over his friend? As he changed into his uniform (and secretly figured that his uniform was part of the reason why nobody cared who he was) he decided he’d make it up on the fly. That’s where his cover stories came from, anyway.

 

As it turns out, he wasn’t going to need a cover story. Their rounds had been, all in all, great. Steve signed about a million autographs, to everybody from patients to doctors to parents of patients. He was in just as many photos. Clint took about half of the pictures, and the rest were selfies. Steve kept trying to kick him questions from the kids, but only one kid knew who he was. Her name was Lily, and she was a competitive archer in her age range, he would come to find out. Lily thought he walked on water. When he walked into the room, her face lit up and she shrieked.

“ _ HAWKEYE!”  _ He had jumped but was only shocked for a second. 

“Hey!” He said, grinning at her. Her mum put a hand on his shoulder and tried to apologise, but he shrugged at her and smiled wider. “It’s always exciting to be recognised,” 

Clint wasted no time. He sat down on the edge of her bed and she told him all about her last competition and what her stats were and what her favourite arrow was and how she wanted to be an Avenger like him, too, when she grew up. Steve stood with the mum and probably told her all about how nobody liked Clint, and all that jazz. Clint was having the best time talking to this kid. She really knew her stuff and was obviously knowledgeable. 

“Mama says I can have a new arm guard after I get out of here!” She crowed. As a rule, the team wasn’t supposed to ask how the kids got into the hospital. Some kids could be sensitive about it and causing meltdowns were the exact opposite of the reason why they were there.

“Yeah? What kind were you thinking, boss?” Clint asked easily. She grinned.

“It doesn’t matter, ‘s long as it’s purple.” She said coyly. Clint grinned. Could he keep her?

“Oh, yeah?” He chuckled. She grinned back. He swung his backpack off of his back and held up a finger. “So, I was thinking, I’ve got this little guy just hanging out in here,” He pulled out a small stuffed golden retriever. “And I figured he was pretty lonely, just hanging out in my backpack all day.” Her eyes lit up again. “Could you do me a favour, boss?” She nodded her head and began to smile. “Could you keep my little friend company?”

“Would I ever!” She said, smiling wide enough to show her missing bottom tooth. Clint laughed and handed the toy over. Lily hugged it close to her chest. “What’s his name?”

“Well, I call him Lucky. But I bet, if you asked him sweetly enough, he’d come to anything.” She pulled him away from her chest and looked more closely at him, scrutinising him carefully.

“He looks like a Lucky to me!” She looked so damn serious, he couldn’t help but belly laugh. 

“I’m glad you officiated it, boss.” He said as she fussed with her blanket. He followed her gaze and found a doctor, Steve, and Lily’s mum hovering in the hallway, just outside the door.

“They’re talkin’ ‘bout later.” She said quietly. Clint nodded, patting her knee. 

“Yeah, I’m sure they are. It’s probably pretty important.” He said carefully. 

“Probably.” She agreed. “They’re gonna put ‘tudes in my ears.” She said seriously. Clint’s brain skipped a gear.

“They’re gonna do what?” She said up a little straighter and put her hand on her chin.

“Mama said they’re like milkshake straws.” She said, matter of factly. It clicked in Clint’s brain that she meant “tubes”. 

“Oh, ‘tubes’. I get it now.” He said, smiling.

“Yeah, those.” She said, smiling nervously. “I don’t know why, but Mama said it’ll make me hear better.” Clint nodded at her.

“They sure will! It’s cos you got all kinds of juice in there they gotta let out that you can’t hear right,” He said, teasing her. Her lip had wobbled and it made his heart clench.

“Juice? Like apple juice?” She asked, scrunching her nose.

“No, silly. Like ear juice.” He said, wiggling his fingers at her. She giggled and put her hands on her ears. 

“What if I like my ear juice?” He laughed and shook his head.

“When I was a kid, my parents didn’t know I was supposed to get rid of ear juice. When I got a little older, I couldn’t even hear what people were saying when they were talking real loud.” He was oversimplifying, but he really couldn’t say that his dad beat the fuck out of him to a six-year-old. “So I got a surgery to fix it.” She nodded, pushing her eyebrows together.

“So now they’re all better?” She asked, chewing on a finger.

“No, but that’s not because of ear juice. I had an accident earlier, and now I have to wear these things to hear.” He unhooked one of his hearing aids and handed it over. She took it gingerly and inspected it like she had Lucky. 

“What if the ‘tudes don’t work?” She asked, handing back his hearing aid.

“I dunno. I’m an Avenger, not a doctor.” He said seriously. He wasn’t about to tell her it would definitively work or any of that. “What I do know, is that this is a great hospital, with great doctors, and your mum knew what she was supposed to do to help you.” 

“If the ‘tudes don’t work, can I get purple ones like Hawkeye?” Lily addressed someone over his shoulder. He turned to see that the other adults had finished their conversation, and he couldn’t gauge how long they’d been listening.

“Of course, honey,” Lily’s mum said, smiling at Clint. 

“But,” The doctor said with a smile. “We expect a perfect recovery. Want to come on back with us, Miss Lily?” 

Steve and Clint watched her leave. 

“Wow,” Clint said to Steve. Steve watched him curiously.

“Yeah. You guys just connected.” Clint nodded.

“They gave her a room just to get ear tubes?” Clint asked as they walked down the hall. Steve shook his head.

“Nah, we were chatting while you two were becoming one large Hawkeye. She had been getting really dizzy a few days ago and she fell two days ago, and they were afraid that she’d hurt herself before they could do her ear tubes.” Clint nodded. 

“Wow.” They were just outside the next room they were to visit, but Steve hesitated. 

“Are you okay?” Clint nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Steve chuckled at him.

“You’re on cloud nine, pal. It’s like she asked you to be her bridesmaid.” Clint snorted. “Have you actually been carrying around that dog for weeks?” 

“Well, I have,” Clint rubbed the back of his neck and blushed. “Yeah, I have. Look.” He unzipped his backpack. Inside, there were a handful of small, plush animals. Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t give them to kids who you sign stuff for and take pictures with because, all in all, they come out ahead. They get a picture with Captain America. Kids who want to hang out with me get a picture of some guy with a bow. I figure they'd like an extra toy.” 

“She didn’t look at you like you were some guy with a bow, Clint,” Steve said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “That was really special. Go ahead and head home.” Clint nodded.

“Thanks. I’ll walk home, get some air.” His eyes were a little too bright, and he felt a lump in his throat. 

“Alright, pal. I’ll see you at home.” 

 

***

To Clint’s credit, he hadn’t even thought about it until he was strolling through the front door of the Tower. It was a forty minute walk, roughly, due to strolling. He put on a burst of speed toward the elevators. They’d be in transit at least twenty minutes past closing time at the hospital. He tapped his foot as the floors counted up. He could unwrap the package and rewrap the package in that time, easy.

He nearly sprinted out of the elevator. Piece of cake. He rounded the bend, scooped up the present, and made toward the elevator to his floor. Just as he came back around the bend, he ran flat into somebody who let out a startled yelp. 

“Oh, shit, Bucky,” Clint awkwardly held out a hand to help him up. “I’m sorry, man,”

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked, taking the hand. “Who sprints around blind corners like that?” Bucky got to his feet and noticed the package Clint was carrying. “Holding the gift I got you for Christmas?” 

Busted.

“I, uh,” Clint turned red. “I just,” 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said, grinning. “Give.” 

“Aw, man,” Clint said, handing over the gift. 

“You have two days!” Bucky said, shaking his finger at Clint. “You can wait two days. Sheesh, you’re like a six-year-old.” Clint somehow managed to get redder.

“I was just so curious,” Clint objected, following Bucky back to the tree. “There wasn’t a sender on it, and it was the only one under the tree from seemingly nobody, and I couldn’t take it anymore!” Bucky paused momentarily in shock, then actually threw his head back and laughed.

“Did you ever stop and think  _ why _ there was no sender on it?” He asked after he had calmed himself. He put his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow. 

“That’s why I wanted to open it!” Clint said, gesturing wildly. 

“Critical thinking skills, Barton,” Bucky drawled, making Clint’s throat go dry. He took a small step closer to Clint, crossing his arms and grinning lopsidedly. “I’ll tell you tomorrow night why there isn’t my name on the tag, but only if you’re on the nice list.” 

Clint was at a loss for words until he realised that Bucky had walked away. When he pulled himself out of the visions of what he would have to do to get on the naughty list, he decided to go up and shower before everybody else got home. He shook himself a few times before coming downstairs. Undoubtedly, Bucky told Tony, and now he would never be allowed to shoot in the range again.

As he entered the group kitchen, searching “archery ranges nearby” online, he found everybody home with a few sheets of pizza.

“Hey guys,” He greeted, raising a hand.

“Here’s the man of the hour!” Tony said, raising a folded slice. Clint cringed. “I hear that a little girl just became your best friend.” That’s not what Clint was expecting.

“Yeah,” He said, grinning slowly. “Yeah, she was awesome.” 

“You have extra stuffed animals for Hawkeye fans?” Bruce asked, grinning. “How could you?” Clint rolled his eyes and reached for a slice.

“Hey, I don’t have Captain America’s paycheck. I couldn’t afford a toy for every kid who loves Captain America.” He jabbed Steve in the ribs.

“Tough break,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “No, seriously, that was the cutest story I have ever heard Steve tell, and he tells quite a few about his ‘best friend Buck’ from back in the day, complimentary heart eyes included.” Steve’s face and neck turned red, and Bucky smiled good-naturedly. Clint chewed on his pizza but nursed a weird knot in his gut. 

“You should have been there,” Clint said, ignoring the heart eyes comment. “She was the cutest thing ever. She was missing a tooth and insisted that she wanted everything just like Hawkeye.” 

“Oh great,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. “Just what your ego needs. Stark, you’ll need to widen all the doors so Barton and his ego will fit.”

This quickly devolved into what started as gentle teasing but quickly became yelling and wheezing laughter. Natasha watched Clint carefully before pulling out her phone and sending a text while zinging Thor about his eating habits. 

 

**Nat: Talk about heart eyes.**

  
Clint grimaced and looked back up at her. Maybe he had been looking at Bucky, but it definitely wasn’t heart eyes. He’d keep telling himself that until it didn’t make his head hurt anymore.


	3. December 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint tries his best to get on Bucky's nice list. He ends up higher up on the list than he really knows.

December 24

 

That morning, Clint woke up early and made confetti pancakes with some red and green sprinkles. He was hoping to make a positive impression on everybody, given his “nice list” stipulations. The first person awake was Steve, and he was dressed and ready to go for a quick run. 

“Wow! I smelled that coming up the hallway, but I never would have guessed it was  _ you  _ making it.” Steve chirped as Clint set a plate down in front of him.

“Come on, Steve. I do have a bit of know-how in the kitchen.” Clint leant against the counter, crossed his arms, and grinned. “You’re going outside in  _ this _ ?” He gestured to the windows. Steve turned on instinct, seeing fat, wet snowflakes tumbling furiously around the Tower.

“Well, no. I’m going down to the gym. Want to join me?” Steve took a huge bite of pancake. “We could spar for a bit.” Clint laughed at him and shook his head.

“Sure on the gym time, no thank you on the sparring.” Steve raised his eyebrow as Clint packed up the finished pancakes and put them in the oven to keep warm. “I’d really rather not have giant bruises for Christmas, thanks.”

“Hey, come on, now,” Steve said, thoroughly offended. “I pull my punches just fine. It’s Buck you gotta worry about,” Clint grimaced as he wrote a note in his neatest handwriting on the fridge that there were pancakes in the oven. 

“Yeah, yeah, tell that to my ribs last week.” Clint pulled his shirt up and pointed out a huge purple splotch.

“We went on a mission last week. That could easily be an AIM handprint.” Steve said, chowing down on more pancake.

“No, look. You can see your fingers in it.” Clint said, chuckling. “That’s clearly your hand.” 

“How do you know what my hand looks like?” Steve asked, vaguely weirded out.

“Because I always end up with bruises in the shape of it after we spar!” Clint said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Look,” Clint walked over with his shirt still up.

“I can see it from here!” Steve objected, sliding his pancakes away from Clint.

“No, put your fist up to that,” Clint said, grabbing Steve’s wrist and shaking it mildly to get him to drop his fork. After a few wiggles, Steve rolled his eyes and gave up. 

“Okay, okay, I give,” He lined his knuckles up over the bruise. They both squinted at it.

“No, maybe your other hand,” Clint muttered, shifting slightly. Steve obliged and put his left hand up to Clint’s bruise, fist closed. “Maybe open hand? I recall a grab and a flip?” 

“Oh, oh, okay, I remember, look,” Steve said brightly, standing. He put a hand on Clint’s left side, and one on the left side of Clint’s neck. Clint laughed and began to tease Clint, but that’s when Bucky cleared his throat.

“Hey,” Steve said, stepping back from Clint. 

“I made pancakes,” Clint said at the same time.

“It looked like you were makin’ something else,” Bucky grumbled as he read the note on the fridge.

“Steve wanted somebody to spar with this morning, and on the grounds of being a fragile bag of meat, I refused,” Clint explained. “Look at this bullshit,” He lifted his shirt again and pointed at it. “That’s one hundred percent, unadulterated Steve Rogers right there.” Bucky nodded minutely while chewing on a pancake that he was holding like a cookie. He said nothing and just looked between Steve and Clint. 

“There’s coffee,” Steve offered. Clint gestured to him in agreement, but Bucky just nodded again and began back down the hallway. Clint and Steve looked at each other for a few moments until they heard the elevator close.

“That was… something.” Clint said softly. Steve watched the hallway with a sad expression on his face.

“He’s not his best in the mornings.” Steve slumped back onto the stool. “Nightmares.” Clint’s jaw ticked and he nodded tautly.

“I know the feeling.” Steve looked sharply at Clint.

“Still getting them.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah, when I’m stressed or it’s cold out.” Clint’s admission hung in the air as Steve’s eyes slid across Clint’s weary face and the windows to the city, where the snow was gently piling up on rooftops, coloured awnings, light posts, and fire escapes. The silence stretched thin before Steve leant back in his chair.

“Oh.” He said in a brittle voice. Clint leant his forearms on the granite countertop and put his forehead between them. He breathed deeply a few times before looking back up at Steve. “Do you need to talk?” 

“No, it’s just the same shit, different day. Thanks, Steve.” Clint nodded a few times, mostly to himself, and looked into his empty coffee cup. “Have you talked with Bucky?” He asked suddenly. Steve shook his head with a frustrated face.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me. He thinks I’ll feel guilty or something.” Clint shot him a playfully accusing glance, and Steve rolled his eyes. “I guess he just needs space.”

“Maybe I’ll go talk to him. Somebody else that had their brain futzed with.” Clint said, only feeling mildly confident about it. Steve nodded and crossed his arms, giving Clint that ‘I knew it all along’ face that made Clint want to shake him.

“I wanted to ask you when he first started staying with us, but I didn’t want to bring it up then. It was still too fresh, and you were still sleeping in Natasha’s bed.” Steve said without judgement. “I was worried it’d implode and we’d lose you both.” 

“Good choice, Cap,” Clint said absently, his mind already two floors away. “I’ll go talk to him. I’m going to skip out on the run this morning.” Steve nodded and looked out the window at the calm of the early morning snow.

“I think I will too.”

 

***

 

Clint balanced a cup of coffee, a bowl of fruit, a plate of pancakes, and a few bottles of water the whole way up to Bucky’s floor. He was nearly breaking a sweat listening to Tony’s voice in his head, saying “Why didn’t you take a tray? We have a million here.” Any time Clint improvised, Tony would remind him that they had a million of whatever Tony’s solution was. Use an arrowhead to hold up a poster? We have a million thumbtacks. Use paracord for shoelaces? Got a billion shoelaces, pick your colour!

Maybe Clint just wanted to keep his balancing act sharp. He didn’t really want to practice, but what if he did?

The elevator dinged and he waited for JARVIS to ask Bucky’s permission to open the door. When they slid open, Clint carefully teetered out to the kitchenette area. 

“Hey, buddy, I brought you up a more complete breakfast. Eating one pancake with your hands does not a breakfast make.” Clint called out. He didn’t see Bucky anywhere, but he was wearing his ears, so he hoped he’d speak up a little. 

“Thanks.” Clint almost dropped everything but managed to only slop a little coffee onto the floor. 

“Christ on a bike, Barnes,” He said, mopping up the slop with his sock on instinct. 

“First off, that’s fucking disgusting. I have paper towels, you know.” Bucky gestured to Clint’s now-wet sock. “Secondly, why is there a bowl of fruit on your head?” 

“It’s a well-balanced breakfast!” Clint replied. He was giddy with delight that somebody walked into that joke with him. He was a little more excited that it was Bucky.

“I hate you so much,” Bucky growled, but his grin ruined the effect. “Let me take this off your hands.” He took the plate and bowl, leaving Clint to the coffee and waters. “So, you delivering to the whole Tower?” He set the food on the counter and leant his butt against it. Clint wasn’t sure what to say, so he sipped his coffee to buy him time. Ah, fuck. Bucky’s coffee.

“This was supposed to be yours,” He groaned. Bucky laughed.

“It’s fine. You made it the way you like it, anyway.” Clint tilted his head at Bucky. 

“I’ve seen you drink this before,” He said, looking into the cup, then back to Bucky. Bucky grinned at him, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Clint narrowed his eyes at Bucky, and the grin dropped. He wiped a hand down his face and kept his gaze averted. 

“That was when I wasn’t even sure of who I was, let alone what I liked.” He said softly. Clint took another sip of his swiped coffee. “I’m guessing you’re not just here to make stupid jokes about fruit.” 

“I could make more jokes about fruit if you want.” Clint offered. “But I think we should talk about some stuff. Doesn’t have to be right now, though. I’m just offering.” He said neutrally. 

“I don’t want to talk,” Bucky said gruffly. He crossed his arms and looked toward the rest of the apartment. Clint leant forward on the counter and nodded at him. He thought back to what he was like when he came back. He spent days in the room Tony gave him, with zero thoughts going through his mind. His tongue got dry on day three and he spent hours rubbing it back and forth on the roof of his mouth and thought about how weird that sensation was, and then spent another few minutes thinking about how goddamn weird he was being. He finally snapped, went downstairs, drank right out of the tap and ate somebody’s leftovers. Steve tried to tell him how happy he was he was eating and he growled at him like an animal and scuttled back upstairs. 

Turns out, the leftovers were Thor’s and he was most put-out and Clint ate them. When Thor came to ask him if he’d like to be included in ordering more Chinese food, in a passive-aggressive attempt to keep the man’s mitts off his dumplings, Thor had to subdue him. Clint then ended up crying all over Thor’s oddly soft henley. He did end up ordering Clint dumplings. He thought about what he would have needed or wanted instead of dumplings, but he couldn’t come up with any answers.

“Okay,” Clint said, drinking more coffee. Bucky looked like he wanted to say something for a few minutes, but ended up just looking deflated. 

“Okay?” He asked Clint. Clint nodded.

“Yeah. I’m not going to shake you down and make you talk. I just figured I’d offer an ear to bend that knows what you’ve been through.” Bucky nodded, getting a faraway look in his eyes. 

“You’ve been here. Yeah.” He said, nodding. “You have.” He looked so lost as he put a hand on the counter like he was double checking to make sure it was real.

“Yep,” Clint said quietly. Bucky came back after a few moments and made eye contact with Clint again. He looked tired. It was easy to forget that he was actually so young. 

“How did you deal with the nightmares?” Clint had to read his lips to understand what he said. Clint grimaced.

“I didn’t.” He said, after a while. “You know what happened, right?” Bucky nodded, eyebrows furrowed. “Well, when I get stressed or it gets cold out, they get worse,” Clint said hoarsely. 

“Worse?” Bucky said, quietly alarmed. “They never went away?” Then he, in a mirror image of Steve, looked outside at the snow with a clenched jaw, then gave Clint one of those piercing stares that he could probably trademark. Clint shook his head, ignoring the creeping chill up his spine.

“No. I never talked. I just… hoped it’d stop. Steve tried to get me to talk and to eat and to go and be something. Bruce looked at me like he was he was going to break me by accident. Thor brought me things to try and cheer me up and guarded me with extreme prejudice. I think he felt guilty because it was his brother. Natasha… Natasha was the most terrifying. She would try to fight off whatever was going on in her mind. Tony tried to joke at it, poke at it, throw money at it. I think he was feeling like it was his job to fix it, or something. I didn’t really appreciate him enough.” Clint let it flow out for the first time in what felt like ages.

“What were you feeling like?” Bucky asked quietly. “You told me how the whole rest of the team felt like, but not you.” Clint had a passing thought about making a snark about Bucky being a journalist in his second life but swallowed it in favour of a dry laugh.

“I didn’t feel anything. I was so empty.” Clint said, sipping more coffee. Bucky put a hand over his eyes and leant into the counter. Clint waited a few minutes before tilting his head at Bucky. His shoulders sagged like he was melting. 

“God,” He said. “That’s what it is. I am so glad. Sorry, not glad. I thought, I dunno. I thought I was broken or something. I thought that when they took me, they took my emotions.” He shook his head and looked down at the counter. “It sounds crazy when you say it out loud.” Clint slid him a water and he cracked it.  
“If you’re feeling it, it’s not crazy.” Clint drained the coffee while Bucky considered what he said. “When I came back, I thought they had left a part of me behind. My soul or whatever you want to call it. For so long, I just felt empty. I wanted to be angry at Loki for the shit he did, or be pissed off about the shit he made me do. Maybe sad for the lives lost because of me and Loki and Selvig.” Bucky nodded along.

“Yeah. I feel like I should be fighting back against Hydra the hardest out of everybody, but I kinda just want to eat and sleep.” He said derisively. 

“Understandable. You just gotta get outside. Be with people. Do stuff that reminds you that you’re here, not back wherever you were.” Bucky nodded a few times and sipped at his water.

“Wanna… Do stuff with me?” He asked, a ghost of his usual bravado coming back. 

“That’s super ambiguous, and by default, suspicious,” Clint said, grinning and moving to rinse out his mug.

“I dunno, what did you pick to do to remind you of where you were?” This is where the journalist jab was coming, Clint could feel it.

“You should pick being a reporter, with all the loaded questions you ask,” Clint grumbled. Bucky laughed and bonked him with the empty water bottle. “But in all seriousness, I picked something we should definitely not do.” 

“Alright, hot shot, hit me,” Bucky said, crossing his arms. “Couldn’t be all that bad.”

 

***

“There are bars open on Christmas Eve?!” Bucky said under his breath as he picked up the beers. 

“Yeah, just none that would be considered ‘wholesome’.” Clint made air quotes around the word ‘wholesome’, and Bucky snorted a little as he sipped his beer.

“Are any bars wholesome?” The red pleather squelched as he sat down and he pulled a face as if the noise answered his question. A man with a guitar sat on a grimy stage and halfheartedly strummed an out-of-key, off-tempo “Jingle Bell Rock” and the bartender’s name was Bess. Two men sat at the bar in coveralls, looking like they walked out of a mill in the sixties, metal lunch boxes and all. The reason why they came, however, was the pack of college students, sitting in the big corner booth. From what Clint could gather, they were home for Christmas, and this was the only bar open. 

“Well, this one is especially not,” Clint said, grinning. “So what we do is sit here and pretend to be pretty drunk within the hour. Then we get up and start to play darts. They taunt us because they think they’re cool in their loafers and khakis, and we challenge them to a duel. Slim pickings.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“They’re eight years old.” Clint grinned giddily.

“And you’re eighty! It balances out. Besides, we never take any money. Just break hearts.” Bucky tried to keep a straight face but ended up grinning back at him.

“This is what you picked?” Clint got a little more sombre.

“Yeah. After dozens of bars and like a million people, it kinda reaffirmed that I’m something different. Never lost a game.” Bucky didn’t want to touch that one with a twenty-foot pole, so instead, he leant forward on the table and whispered conspiratorially.

“Do we have to pretend to get drunk?”

 

***

 

“I did it right-handed! I did it left-handed! I did it with my eyes closed! You’re just a sore loser!” Clint roared, swaying on his feet. Bucky chuckled and shook his head.

“I’m not a sore loser, you’re a sore winner!” He poked Clint in the middle of the chest, and the Doug, Cliff, Jake, and Tom made “Ooooooh,” noises. John and Michael shook their heads at the rowdy youths. 

“If I make this next one, you have to buy the bar a round!” Clint wagered, turning around.

“And if you lose?” Bucky challenged.

“You don’t have to tell me about the present if I lose!” Clint crowed. Bucky’s face flickered with confusion for a second before he realised what Clint was talking about. He started sniggering, then the snicker turned into a giggle, then that grew into full laughter. Clint glared and turned back around. “What’s so funny, tough guy?”

“You seriously are still on about that?” Bucky asked through the laughter. “Can’t you just wait?”

“I’m not a patient guy. Now come on, do you take the bet?” Clint turned back around after Bucky nodded, smiling at him and shrugging.

“Whatever.”  
Clint bulls eyed it again, but Bucky wasn’t surprised. While Clint and the college guys high fived and whooped, he collected the drinks from and gave money to Bess. She looked like she was trying to pretend to be annoyed to keep pretence, but was quite thrilled with the business.

“Thanks, ma’am,” Bucky said, picking up the two drafts for the millworkers. 

“How long have you boys been together?” Bess asked, pouring the shots of Fireball for the brave young men in the corner.

“Together?” Bucky said, mildly taken aback. 

“Yeah, you boys look like a fine couple,” Bess said, handing him a shot of vodka (his) and an Irish Car Bomb (Clint’s. He’d feel it come morning,). 

“I’m- uh, we’re not-” He stuttered as Clint came over to take his drink.

“Thanks, boo,” Clint said gripping Bucky’s arm. “Wanna sit with the kids for a bit? The one asked me for girl advice and I laughed in his face and said I’d ask you.” Bucky looked over at Bess, who was giving him quite the look. John and Mike were chuckling with each other.

“Yeah. Let’s go sit with them.” Bucky said, taking the shot and putting the glass back on the bar. “Can I have another one of those?” When Bess complied, he took it and set the glass back down, then followed Clint. He tried to shake off the feeling in his stomach at the fact that Clint’s hand still rested on his arm.

 

***

 

“Merry Christmas, fellas and Bess!” Clint called back in the door. A scattered “Merry Christmas!” floated out into the street after them. It was still gently snowing, and Clint pulled his coat in closer to him. 

“That was something,” Bucky said, grinning at Clint. Clint wobbled on his feet for a second before Bucky put his arm around his shoulder to steady him. Clint put his arm around Bucky’s back, trying to get the street to stop spinning.

“How are you not as drunk as me?” Clint asked incredulously. “You were taking shots all night!” Bucky laughed as Clint strafed a few steps toward the buildings to their left. 

“I’m a super soldier. It’s a perk of the job.” He said drily. Clint chuckled.

“I’ve got to be a pretty cheap date, then.” Bucky rolled his eyes at him as they turned the corner.

“You paid for your drinks, Clint.” Clint laughed at him.

“I guess I did.” They walked in relative silence back towards the Tower. They were about a block away before Clint spoke up again.

“So, am I on the nice list?” Bucky chuckled, knowing where this was going.

“Oh, I dunno. You were pretty sore back at the dart boards.” He replied, leading Clint on. Happily, Clint wasn’t so drunk he didn’t know a taunt when he heard one.

“Oh, come on, Robocop! You can’t back out on your promise, now!” They came into the lobby and got into the elevator.

“Clint’s floor, JARVIS,” Bucky said, leaning with Clint against the wall. Clint eyed him wearily. “You wanna know why I didn’t put my name on the package?” The floors pinged as they passed.

“I sure do,” Clint said lowly. 

“There wasn’t a line for me to put my name on that tag.” He said, grinning. “That’s it. No big conspiracy.” Clint pulled a stunned face for a second as the doors opened for his floor. He took Bucky’s arm like a lady being walked across the street, stunned. “You home, pal?” Bucky asked, walking him into his rooms. 

“That’s it?” Clint said, both eyebrows raised.

“That’s it, pal. Seriously. If I would have known that you’d lower yourself to espionage because of it, I would have put a different tag on your gift.” Bucky said with a chuckle. They both perched at the foot of Clint’s bed. Clint still looked like Bucky had just blown his mind.

“Man. I really built that up, there.” He admitted. “When I first saw it, I was like ‘Oh god, that’s like a bomb or something,’” He said laughing a little. “When I ran you over and you said it was from you, I was somehow more nervous about what it was because you didn’t say it was from you.” 

“A bomb?” Bucky said, laughing a little. Clint reddened and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I dunno.” Bucky laughed harder, gripping his stomach.

“You thought somebody got you a bomb for Christmas?” Clint started chuckling too.   
“I dunno, I dunno!” Clint protested, holding up his hands. “It looked suspicious. You know how that package looks? If I were to tell Bugs Bunny to draw a Christmas present, that’s what he’d draw.” That made Bucky slap his knee.

Soon, they were both wheezing and wiping tears from their eyes. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky said as they were winding down. Clint began to try and untie his boots, but he felt like his fingers were too fat. The parting shot that they took swam around in his head, making him a little dizzy, and something else…

“Uh-oh.” Bucky was quick with the garbage can. He scrunched up his nose at the noises Clint was making. “Gross, pal.” He stood and wet a clean washcloth from Clint’s bathroom. 

“Thanks,” Clint groaned. Bucky caught a glimpse into the bin and raised his eyebrows in alarm.

“What did you eat?! It’s all green and red,” Clint managed a weak chuckle before groaning again.

“All I had today was those pancakes at breakfast,” Bucky shook his head.

“You are the patron saint of disasters,” He said dryly. Clint retched again. “Hoo,” Bucky whistled. “I’ll get you some toast and water.” 

When he found Clint’s kitchenette to have nothing in it but a million-year-old box of pizza and some pretty expensive coffee, he went back downstairs to the communal floor. He was toasting half a loaf of bread in Stark’s super toaster (he expected no other kind of toaster) when Natasha cleared her throat behind him.

“What are you doing?” She asked, a playful look in her eyes. “You smell like dumpster.” He barked a laugh and pulled a few waters out of the fridge.

“I’m toasting bread for my championship dart team captain,” He chuckled. “We both forgot he was human.” Natasha frowned a little and leant against the counter.

“So that’s where you guys went. I barely convinced Steve to not assemble the Avengers’ search party.” Bucky sucked air through his teeth.

“It was a little last minute,” He admitted. Natasha nodded.

“I’ll say. Clint’s alright?” She asked coolly. 

“Yeah. Puking the soles of his shoes up. That’s what this is for.” He held up his offerings. Natasha looked him up and down.

“Be careful with him.” She said shortly. “Just… Be careful.” She turned on the kettle in clear dismissal of him. Bucky got back in the elevator, wondering what she meant. When the doors opened, he called out to Clint.

“Hey, pal. Got some dry toast and water.” No answer. He quickened his pace a little, turning into the bedroom. Clint lay, in purple boxers, the wrong way across the bed on his back, the trash can looped under one arm, with the other across his eyes.

“Hey, pal.” Clint echoed back to him. “I think I’m dying.” Bucky chuckled, heart pounding. The way Natasha told him to be careful it was like Bucky’d find him dead somewhere. 

“You’re not dying, you just feel the hangover breathing down your neck. I’ll set up your coffee pot and put your toast right here.” He set it down on the nightstand. 

“Wait!” Clint groaned. Bucky swivelled back around on his foot. “Don’t leave. It’s cold out.” He said simply. He didn’t take the arm from his face, but he could tell he was blushing from the colour creeping down his chest. Bucky faltered at the fact that he was nearly nude and clearly inebriated, and he was just standing there talking to him. 

“Um, alright. I’ll be just on the couch.” 

“You don’t have to sleep there. I’ll sleep there.” Clint said, sitting up. He sat up too fast and retched instead. 

“I appreciate the thought, but if you move, you might actually die.” Bucky teased. Clint laid back down in the right direction. 

“Here. I’ve got a king,” Clint said wearily. He looked at Bucky with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The look there looked like what Bucky saw in the mirror some mornings before the sun came up, while he was drinking water straight from the tap to soothe a throat hoarse from screaming all night.   
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Bucky said, suddenly a little too warm. “I’ll just go get sweats,”

“I’ve got sweats,” Clint said, eyes a little wild. A beat passed before the air seemed to leave Clint’s body. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, no. It’s fine.” Bucky opened a few drawers before he found some sweatpants. He ducked into the bathroom, heart pounding in his ears. Why was this so wild for him? He’d done this a million times with Steve. He kicked off his jeans, head a little too floaty to care that they were in a pile in Clint’s bathroom. He left the tee shirt on, not willing to be shirtless in Clint’s entire apartment, let alone his bed. When he came back out, Clint was nibbling on a toast.

“I’m sorry,” He said, voice a little clearer. “You don’t have to stay. I just, I dunno.” Bucky shook his head.

“No, it’s alright. I don’t really,” He paused, toeing off a sock. “I guess I don’t really want to be alone either.” Admitting that made him feel a little better. Clint nodded, ears still burning red. 

“Okay. Alright.” Bucky climbed into bed on the other side, and Clint got horizontal again. It was a little less awkward than he thought it was going to be. 

“You sure you don’t want me on the couch?” Clint laughed as he pulled off one of his hearing aids.

“Nah. For all the money Stark has, he can’t seem to buy a comfortable couch.”


	4. December 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint thinks Bucky is God's gift to men.

December 25

 

Clint woke up to a tiny man trying to pick his way out of his skull with an axe. His mouth tasted like shoe leather and puke. He opened his eyes and groaned at the intensification of his headache. The bed shook minutely next to him and he cracked at eye at the offending party. Bucky was laughing at him.

“What time is it? No, don’t give me those.” Bucky was handing him hearing aids. He knew from experience that it would only agitate the small man with the axe. 

“Eleven,” Bucky said. “Nobody else has gotten up yet. You want some aspirin?” 

“Aspirin. Yes.” Clint said, nodding. He made himself dizzy and closed his eyes with another pitiful groan. Bucky chuckled again as he got out of the bed. 

As he opened up Clint’s medicine cabinet and shook his head at the sheer amount of bandages that were in there, he heard Clint trying to get comfortable again. He came out to a shock of blonde hair sticking out of the blankets, and half a forehead, but that’s it. Bucky chuckled and pushed down on the mattress gently a few times to get Clint’s attention. Clint slid his left eyeball out of the blankets.

“Here you go,” He said, clearly enunciating and holding up the aspirin and a water left over from last night. Clint sat up slowly and took the aspirin and sipped some water.

“Did you let me get hit by a car?” He groaned. “No, no. Truck. It was definitely a truck.” Bucky chuckled.

“It worries me that you know the difference between getting hit by a car or a truck.” He replied. Clint grinned and leant up against the headboard. 

“I haven’t been this hungover is so long.” Bucky sat back down on the bed and offered him a toast. Clint took it gratefully and nibbled on a corner. 

“When’s the last time you went out for fun, instead of went out for doing stuff?” Bucky asked him. Clint’s brain, hampered by his small friend with the axe, whirred for a few seconds before retrieving the answer.

“Had to have been when me and Phil and Nat went out during my early SHIELD days.” He replied. “Didn’t go out much the higher I got in SHIELD.” Bucky nodded.

“Well, I have you beat.” He joked. “The last time I went out, I was still in the Army.” Clint’s eyes widened and he almost choked on his toast.

“Yeah, you’ve got me beat.” Clint allowed. Bucky also leant on the headboard. Their shoulders were only a few inches apart, but Bucky unconsciously didn’t allow his left arm to touch Clint. The position wasn’t conducive to lip reading, but neither really felt the urge to chat. Bucky let his head rest on the headboard and he closed his eyes for a while as Clint nibbled toast, drank water, and waited for the aspirin to kick in. “That was the best night of sleep I’ve had since New York.” Clint blurted like he’d been wanting to say it for hours. Bucky opened his eyes and looked over to Clint. He had his upper body turned to Bucky, with his right shoulder resting on the headboard. He looked completely at ease, even his face was relaxed, but he was absolutely shredding a piece of toast in his hands.

“You’re getting crumbs in the bed.” Bucky pointed at the toast. 

“Oh, dammit,” Clint swore, dropping the toast back on the plate. He got up and brushed the toast crumbs into the trash can, wrinkling his nose at it. Bucky chuckled.

“I slept pretty well, too.” He replied after Clint sat back down. Clint nodded a few times, looking a little awkward and green. 

“Good.” 

“Good morning,” JARVIS said. Bucky thought he could hear a tinge of scandalisation in the AI’s voice. “Sir would like to know when the both of you would be present downstairs.” Clint caught the drift from Bucky’s look up that JARVIS was talking. When Bucky looked back down, he cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Tony wants to know when we’re going to be downstairs.” Clint grimaced.

“So they know we spent the night together.” He said, face mild. 

“Are they not supposed to know?” Bucky asked, a little offended. Clint shook his head, realising he’d misspoke.

“No, I mean, I’m not- We weren’t- Not that I’d mind- No, I mean,” Clint may have said every word in the English language if Bucky had let him. 

“Worried about… us, or worried about them?” Bucky offered, as a way to let Clint do Clint.

“Both, I think?” Clint said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is this,” He gestured to the bed, “Are we?” He asked, then rubbed his face and sighed. “Tony’s gonna ask some pointed questions, and Steve is gonna have such a  _ face. _ ” Clint went with. Bucky laughed and nodded.

“Steve always has such a  _ face. _ ” He agreed. “What kind of face are you hoping he’ll have?”

“There you go, being a reporter again,” Clint grumbled, reaching for his hearing aids. Bucky passed them over, grinning at him smugly. “I dunno. Hopefully, an ‘I made a bet on this with Tony’ face.” Clint went out on a limb. He felt his heart try to catch up with the speeding of his brain, who was trying to catch up with the roadrunner that was his mouth. “Because I was wondering if  _ this _ ,” He gestured to the bed again. “Was purely platonic, or something else.” Bucky picked at a loose thread in the duvet cover.

“I was wondering the same thing.” He said, looking back into Clint’s eyes. “I was hoping it was something else.” Breath caught in Clint’s throat.

“I was hoping that too,” He said quickly. A grin broke on Bucky’s face that Clint couldn’t help mirroring.

“Sirs? The rest of the team is waiting downstairs.” Bucky and Clint looked to the ceiling in alarm and mild annoyance.

“Tell ‘em to shove it,” Clint said. 

“Tell them we’re coming,” Bucky replied at the same time.

 

***

“Shove it  _ and  _ we’re coming?” Bruce said, face incredulous. “Oh, my god.”

“Phrasing. You, you, you and you owe me money.” He pointed at Steve, Sam, Bruce, and Rhodey. 

“There is no confirmation about anything, Tony,” Rhodey admonished. The weight of his tone was lightened by his jingle bell reindeer ears he was wearing. “I’m not paying you til there’s proof.” Thor grinned at Rhodey. He was owed a hefty stake of the money that was now in the pot.

“What, Machine of War, their being together this morning was not clear enough proof?” He nabbed a cube of cheese from the table. 

“No, man. They might have just passed out together. You never know.” Rhodey replied. 

 

***

“I’m gonna stop off on my floor to change.” Bucky gestured to his smelly tee shirt and Clint’s pants, which were bright purple with a grey arrow down the leg. “They’re gonna talk even louder if we show up and I’m dressed like this.” Clint chuckled.

“Fair.” He replied. “I’ll go with you.” He said lightly. Bucky grinned at him.

“What, don’t wanna show up alone?” He crossed his arms and rested a hip against the wall.

“Do you or do you not have an ugly sweater?” Clint deflected while gestured at his own. It was red and green vest with a Christmas scene depicting bears opening up gifts around a tree on it. He had a white long-sleeved shirt on underneath.

“Why even try? That’s the ugliest ugly sweater.” Clint put on a light-up Santa hat with a grin. “Where did you even get that?”

“The Goodwill on 8th Street. They have the best stuff,” Clint said with a flourished bow.

“Define ‘best’. No, I don’t even own a sweater, I don’t think.” Bucky replied, rolling his eyes. 

“Well, I can fix your waggon up real good,” Clint replied, rubbing his hands together mischievously and diving into his closet.

“Clint,” Bucky began. Clint turned, holding last year’s sweater up and a random $5 sweater-printed tee shirt. “Your Iowa is showing.” Clint scoffed and shoved Bucky the two options.

“Well?” He asked. Bucky weighed them, pretending to deliberate seriously. 

“I’ll take the sweater.” He replied. “I don’t like short sleeved things.” He clarified. Clint nodded, making a mental note to ask about that later. It’d probably end up being another breakfast table talk. 

“Alright, let’s get down there,” Clint said heavily. Bucky chuckled and patted him on the shoulder in moral support. If he let his hand linger for a little longer than necessary, whose business was it, anyway?

 

***

 

They exited the elevator, mildly nervous. They were only twenty minutes behind everybody else, but it felt like a lifetime. 

“How’s the hangover treating you?” Steve asked as they drifted to the picky platters, at a volume that was entirely unnecessary and petty. 

“Rude,” Clint replied, glaring in jest.

“Me or the hangover?” Steve laughed, eating a green olive that had been speared with a little toothpick with red fluff on the end.

“Both.” Bucky replied. It appeared that Tony had sonar equipped because he began making his way to the pair.

“Aw, matching Christmas sweaters. Cute.” He said, gesturing to them. Steve snorted, and Clint began to object to the ‘matching’ bit, but Tony cut them off. “A little hair of the dog to take the edge off?” 

“There will be no hair, nor a dog.” Pepper replied, seemingly summoned by a wayward Tony Bad Idea **™.**

“Hey, there might be a dog. You don’t know what I got Steve. It’ll be a Lab, matches his eyes.” Tony replied. Pepper shook her head at him.

“There’s no boxes with air holes,” Steve objected.

“How would you know? Did you peek?” Tony asked Steve, but the question was mostly directed at Clint. Clint grimaced as Steve denied peeking vehemently. Bucky elbowed Clint and rolled his eyes at the now scrapping Tony and Steve, and thumbed in the direction of the living room where everybody else congregated. They claimed the loveseat, which in hindsight, was the exact wrong thing to do.

“So,” Sam began, with a shit eating grin. “Do you two share knives and guns, or is that a little later on in the relationship?” Natasha glared at him, but he seemed to be immune. 

“I mean, we haven’t talked about it yet, but I’m sure we’re open to sharing knives. I don’t know about guns, though, honey bunny, that’ll be a step,” Clint said, grinning at Bucky. 

“What, you don’t trust me with your guns? I would never assume, but darling-” Rhodey interrupted them by dramatically licking his thumb and counting money morosely. Clint squinted at him.

“What are you doing?” He looked at Tony, who was already trying to slip another fold of money into his pocket. “They were betting on this!” Clint said incredulously.

“Steve, buddy. Not you too,” Bucky said, shaking his head as Steve went to hand Natasha a small stack of bills.

“Now that we’ve gotten  _ my _ favourite Christmas present out of the way, why don’t we open gifts?” Tony said, grinning at Clint and Bucky.  

“I’ll hand the gifts out,” Bruce offered, after glancing apologetically toward Clint and giving Thor a handful of cash. Bucky grinned at Clint like he knew something that Clint didn’t, and he became uncomfortable. There was scheming in the air, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Bruce gave Steve a small box from Sam. Steve took the wrapping paper off, opened the box, and discovered a box wrapped in different wrapping paper. Clint clutched his sides in laughter. He already knew what was in store for Steve. Steve unwrapped six boxes, each impeccably wrapped in a different colour paper. The last box was small, only about two inches square, and wrapped in gold paper. Steve gave Sam a good-natured glare and opened the box.

“Read the note,” Sam coerced after a few seconds of silence. 

“Dear Steve,” Steve read, voice shaking. “I’d like you to have this. I know it may be a little forward, but I couldn’t imagine a better guy to give this to. Love, your eyes in the sky.” Steve held up a key on a short American flag needlepoint key fob. “P.S., please quit breaking my sliding glass door on the patio. My landlord hates you.” Steve finally let the laugh out he’d been trying to contain. “You got me keys to your house for Christmas?” Sam made a self-satisfied face.

“It may have been a little bit of a group gift. By group, I mean mostly me.” 

Bruce gave an envelope from Tony to Sam. Inside, there were only two words written in Tony’s sloppy handwriting on an index card: Jetpack Upgrade. After Sam’s victory lap, Natasha got a gift bag from Steve. In it were a few books, and Natasha smiled wryly at Steve. 

“You listen well.” Steve’s ears coloured and he thanked her. 

Steve got a new pair of running tennis shoes in them with tech in the heel that helped him track his runs from Tony, Bucky got a few of the lovely Barnes and Nobles collector’s editions of sci-fi novels from Steve, Bruce got Tony some coffee mugs that looked like beakers, and Clint was having so much fun watching that he didn’t even notice the pile getting smaller without him opening a single present. It took Bucky saying something to get him to notice.

“Hey, cowboy. Missing something?” He asked Clint in a husky voice. Clint patted his pockets in mild shock before looking around.

“Oh, hey.” He noticed. “Yeah, I forgot,” He got up and pulled envelopes out of the branches of the tree, each with a name on them. “Me and Barn used to do this for each other for Christmas and I couldn’t think of anything better to give to everybody.” Natasha smiled softly, being on the receiving end of many of these Christmas envelopes herself. He passed them out to each person and perched on the arm of the loveseat nearest Bucky. 

In each envelope, there were hand-drawn tickets entitled “Clint’s Coupons”. Steve had one that said “One movie from your list with  _ zero _ Hawkeye exclusive commentary”, Tony had one that said “One free “Shoo!” from the lab, no excuses from Hawkeye”, Bruce had one that said “Three (3) tea refills from Hawkeye, redeemable by text” with little circles he was to punch out at the bottom, one of Thor’s said “As much beer as you can drink, compliments of Hawkeye”, Nat had one that proclaimed that Clint would do all the paperwork from three missions, and Bucky had one that offered a home cooked meal. 

“Sorry, Rhodey, Pepper, and Sam. Yours are a little generic, so if you’d like to change yours with one you like from the other guys…” He trailed off as he saw everyone reading their coupons. 

“Clint, this is great,” Steve said, grinning. 

“Yeah, this is so cute I can’t even mess with him anymore,” Tony said, grinning. “Go ahead, Bruce.” Bruce chuckled.

“We were going to keep you in suspense, Clint, because you were a dirty rotten peeker.” He took a few gifts out of the ottoman. “But you didn’t even ask!” Clint realised he hadn’t even thought about what Bucky’s gift was. Part of him said it was the hangover, but part of him thought it was a little bit of something else: the way Bucky had been looking at him all night. If Bucky looked at him any harder, he'd forget his own  _name_.

“You guys are dicks.” He said, laughing.

“Watch it, buddy, we’ll take ‘em back,” Tony joked as Bruce handed him one from Tony. They were Wood shirts, ones Clint didn’t have yet. The next one was from Steve, and it was a Starbucks gift set with a mug, a French press, and a few bags of coffee. The gift from Bruce was a gift card to the sandwich place down the road that he really liked to stop for lunch, and Pepper got him a new bow case. Nat gave him a bunch of stuffed animals. 

“For the kids,” She said, with a grin. Clint started stealing ribbon off of the packages they’d unwrapped. Thor gave him a flask, and when Clint shook it, it sounded like there was something in it.

“When I brought it back, I was unaware that you could not hold your liquor,” Thor said, grinning. “Tony equated it to your Midgardian moonshine.” Clint barked a laugh. 

“Won’t be messing with that ‘til next Christmas, big guy,” Thor laughed and continued chowing down on the cookie tray Pepper had supplied. 

The last box in the bottom on the ottoman was a green-wrapped box with a red ribbon. Clint grinned at Bruce, who handed it to him.

“Finally!” He said triumphantly. “I have been waiting so long-”

“Well, open it, meathead!” Bucky said, chuckling. Clint untied the bow and ripped the paper off of the box. “I was told this was your favourite show,” It was the boxed set of Dog Cops, with all the exclusive content.

“Oh my god,” Clint said, holding it up. “It’s beautiful.”

 

***

 

That afternoon passed with good food and great company. Tony coerced everyone into a game of Cards Against Humanity and was utterly aghast when Pepper won. They watched Christmas movies and ate a bunch of food. Clint ended up getting the “Ugliest Christmas Sweater” travelling mug for his vest, and Bucky pretended to be thoroughly offended, even going so far as to pretend to walk the catwalk to prove his ugly sweater worthiness. 

That evening, when everyone started to disperse, Bucky settled back in next to Clint on the loveseat.

“Hey.” He said with a small smile on his face. “Wanna make our way upstairs?” Clint’s eyes twinkled and he cocked his head.

“Had enough of this crowd?” Clint asked, grinning back. 

“Yeah, let’s blow this joint.” They said their goodnights and headed toward the elevators. They pushed the ‘up’ button, but once they were in the elevator, they realised they weren’t sure where they were headed.

“Uh,” Clint hovered his hand over the button for his floor, looked at Bucky with a raised eyebrow, and switched to hovering over the button for Bucky’s floor. Bucky laughed.

“You’ve got a way with words. Whichever you’d like. If we go to yours, I need to get sweatpants.” Clint nodded, pushing the button for Bucky’s floor.

“You’re still alright sleeping in the same bed?” Clint asked. Bucky nodded. “Just double checking.” 

“No, it’s still real,” Bucky said, smiling knowingly. “Still alright.” The door dinged and they wandered into the apartment. “Hey, I gotta shower. Do you mind waiting?” Clint shook his head and sat down at the breakfast bar. In Bucky’s apartment, it was facing the window to the city. He watched as people strolled down the streets, as snow drifted down, and as lights turned off in buildings, slowly putting the city to sleep. He was so lost in thought when Bucky came in, wet hair and in bare feet, that he didn’t notice him sitting beside him.

“It’s kinda pretty, isn’t it?” Bucky asked. Clint started a little before leaning into the chair back.

“Yeah. When we were kids, me and Barn, snow was like the kiss of death in the house. The heat never really worked right, so we would end up in the same bed, piling all of our blankets on top of us. It was still cold.” He chuckled lightly. Bucky smiled, remembering much the same thing happening between him and Steve. 

“Steve and I would do the same, except he’d wheeze when it’d get too cold.” Bucky looked down at the countertop ruefully, holding onto the edge with his right hand. “How the times have changed, am I right?” He said quietly. Clint put his hand over top of Bucky’s hand on the counter. 

“Yeah. They have.” Clint said. Bucky flipped his hand around to thread his fingers between Clint’s. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he leant into Clint, intent clear in his eyes.

“Not all bad, though,” Bucky said. Clint nodded minutely, leaning into Bucky. It was only a peck on the lips, but Clint’s heart was beating and he could feel Bucky’s pulse racing under the hand he’d migrated to his cheek. “My bed or yours?” Bucky said into his lips. 

“Mine. I’m still wearing my Goodwill vest.” Clint said in a husky voice. Bucky laughed, inhaling.

“Did you wash that before you wore it?” He asked, only a little suspicious. Clint paused, holding it out from his body and inspecting it.

“Should I have?” He asked with a serious expression.

“Oh, God, Clint, you probably have fleas or something.” Clint squirmed in the elevator and began stripping the second the door opened. 

“I have to shower, too,” He called down the hallway at Bucky.

“Is it because of the fleas?” Bucky asked, chuckling. Clint groaned.

“Quit saying ‘flea’!” He scratched at the back of his neck and the base of his throat as he turned on the water to the hottest he could stand it. Bucky plopped onto Clint’s bed. He saw the steam escaping through the cracked door of the bathroom, and he felt a little like he was intruding. He laid back so that he wasn’t looking right into the bathroom anymore. Clint was whistling a jaunty tune that made Bucky grin. Clint came out of the bathroom, wearing only sweats. Bucky felt a flutter in his stomach.

“G’night,” Clint said muzzily, snuggling into the blankets and setting his hearing aids on the bedside stand. He looked so content that Bucky laughed at him and curled up under the blankets as well. Clint slept on his belly, with one leg at an angle and his arms under his head. Bucky slept on his back, hands folded on his stomach. Clint began inching closer to Bucky, and when he was close enough, he crossed his left thigh over Bucky’s left thigh and sighed deeply. 

“Comfy?” Bucky asked Clint, who had an eye cracked and a cocky grin on his face. 

“Yep. Thank you,” Clint said, voice a little too full of emotion to only be talking about Bucky being a nice leg rest.

“My pleasure.” Bucky responded, equally as serious. He wasn’t quite sure where they stood, but wherever it was, he was the happiest he’d been in a long time. Clint quirked a smile at him as he reached out to shut off the lamp.

“Tomorrow, we’re marathoning Dog Cops.” Clint declared, close to Bucky’s ear. 

“I’ve never even seen Dog Cops.” Bucky protested, knowing full well he’d got him the fifth and most recent season.

“Nope, can’t hear you. You can’t argue.” Clint said, grin clear in his voice. Bucky rolled his eyes and scooted in closer to Clint, refusing to argue with Clint's logic. "Best Christmas ever," Clint murmured, yawning. Bucky looked down at Clint in the dim. His eyes were closed and he had a small smile on his face. He had one arm on Bucky's chest and his head resting on the other arm. 

"Best Christmas ever." Bucky agreed and kissed Clint's forehead while silently wishing that there were many more 'Best Christmases' ahead. 


End file.
